


One of Those Days

by thirstworldproblemss



Series: A Warm Welcome Home [2]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Massage, Vaginal Fingering, bad day, loving smut, no y/n, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 03:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstworldproblemss/pseuds/thirstworldproblemss
Summary: Marcus comes home late and helps the reader feel better after a bad day.
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You
Series: A Warm Welcome Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216133
Kudos: 8





	One of Those Days

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Home To You](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/778539) by yespolkadotkitty. 



> This fic was inspired by a _very_ long week. Technically in the same universe as A Warm Welcome Home, but it’s not necessary to read that first. Note: Marcus & the reader have child together, but it’s not mentioned beyond a single line about “getting the baby to sleep”
> 
> Originally posted to [my tumblr](https://thirstworldproblemss.tumblr.com/).

## One of _Those_ Days  
(A Different Kind of Homecoming)

Despite his best efforts, Marcus still gets stuck working late some days. This is one of those days. This has also been one of *those* days, where you’ve had too much to do and nothing quite seemed to go your way, so tonight, after finally getting the baby to sleep, you shuck everything but your underwear and flop face down onto your bed.

You’re just going to rest for a minute, then you’ll get up to put on PJs and get ready for bed for real. _Really. Aaaaaannnny minute now,_ you tell yourself as you breathe into the pillow, so damn ready to be done with this day, but not quite able to make yourself get up and finish it.

You’re still lying there, dazed and maybe dozing, when you hear the door open then close, and soft footsteps enter the bedroom

“Marcus?” you call, except you’re muffled by the pillow so it comes out more like “M’cs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.” You hear the soft rustle and clink of clothes being removed and you know he’s getting undressed. You picture him hanging his jacket in the closet, coiling his belt on the dresser, tucking his dress shoes away under the row of dress shirts, and tossing the rest of his dirty clothes in the hamper. Always neat, this man, and you love him for it.

After a couple minutes the noises stop, and you imagine Marcus standing there watching you. You try to scrape together the motivation to get up and greet him, but it’s not happening.

“Are you… all right?” He asks, sounding concerned.

“M’fine,” you tell the pillow, but neither it nor Marcus seem terribly convinced.

“You sure?” he presses.

You roll your head to the side so you can talk without being muffled. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s just been one of _those_ days.”

“Alright.” His voice is gentle, “Would you— Do you want to talk about?”

“No, it’s nothing like _that_. It’s just been a long day is all.” You definitely don’t want to talk about today—don’t even want to think about it. You just want to go to bed and let it be over.

“Okay. If you’re sure. I’m here if you change your mind.” You love that he doesn’t push. He’s silent for a moment, then, “Anything I can do?” 

“Mmmmm.” Forming more words feels difficult, so you pat his side of the bed. “C’mere?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry it was a tough day, sweetheart.” Instead of getting into bed on his side, he sits down next to you on yours and rubs a hand over your back. “This okay?”

You make an agreeable noise, then a longer hum of pleasure when he increases the pressure. His strong, warm hands rub over your neck and shoulders, finding all your sore spots, pressing just right. It feels good, and you feel yourself finally relaxing into the mattress.

After a minute he stands up, and starts to apply more pressure to a particularly tense spot on your upper back. It hurts a little, but in that _oh, so good_ way, and you can’t help the soft moan that leaves your lips. You hear Marcus suck in a quick breath. 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, and you hum out an affirmative.

He moves on to your arms next, starting with the one closest to him. His fingers dig into the flesh of your bicep, sliding down past your elbow to squeeze along your forearm. You let out small happy hums and moans as he works his way down to cradle your hand in his, trying to let him know without words how good it feels. He rubs gently across your palm and out along each of your fingers. You feel so relaxed that you’re practically melting into the bed. 

He finishes your right arm and lays it back along your side, then he reaches for the other one. He must misjudge the distance, because for a brief moment his hips press against the side of the bed where your arm is, and you feel his cock, hard as steel and hot even through the fabric of his underwear.

Marcus’s breath hisses out, and the touch is gone again almost before you register it. He breathes a quiet “Sorry,” then goes back to rubbing your other arm as if nothing had happened. 

The place on your arm where he pressed against you tingles. And Marcus may be able to ignore the fact that he’s turned on, but you can’t, not now that you _know._ You can’t help but think about his cock, picturing it hard and throbbing in his boxer briefs. You feel like the heat of it was contagious. It seems to spread through your body, settling low in your stomach and where your breasts are pressed against the sheets. You can’t stop thinking about it as Marcus continues to massage down your left arm.

He finishes your arms and moves on to your lower back. It still feels good, of course, but now you feel like each touch is increasing your tension instead of relieving it. Every pass of his big, warm hands over your skin seems to spread the fire inside you. 

When he stops at the top of your ass and moves down to start on your right foot, it feels like a tease. You moan as he works his way up your calf to your knee… your thigh… your upper thigh… and then his hands lift. When they settle on your other foot, the groan you make is louder—half pleasure, half complaint—and you think you hear Marcus’s breathing pick up.

By the time he works his way up to your other knee, you’re moaning with every exhale, and this time when his big warm hands reach the top of your thigh, you can’t help but whine and angle your hips up into his hands, encouraging him to continue further. 

His hands still, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“Something you want, sweetheart?” Marcus’s voice is low and a little rough, and it feels like it’s rasping over your skin. 

“Yes. Please, Marcus,” you manage.

He chuckles a little. 

“Yeah. Of course, sweetheart. Just relax.” He sits next to you with his left knee up on the bed, pressing against your hip. His big warm hands slide up your thighs and under the edge of your underwear, rubbing and and kneading at your glutes.

It’s still a massage, but no longer an innocent one. You press up into his hands, feeling like you’re about to go up in flames.

He rubs over your ass and upper and inner thighs, kneading and squeezing in a way that leaves you panting into the pillow. You roll your hips up into his hands, trying to get him to touch where you need it most, but he stays stubbornly just this side of any sexual contact. Each sweep of his fingers feels nearer to where you ache for him, but somehow it’s never quite close enough.

You wrap your arms around the pillow, hands grasping and flexing. No subtlety now, as you rock your hips up and back, harder and higher each time his hands slide closer to your aching core.

Then on one stroke up your inner thigh, his fingers just barely brush you through your underwear, and every muscle from your waist to your knees immediately locks up. You bite down on a desperate noise but can’t fully control the high whine that builds in your throat at the contact.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Marcus grits out, his voice a low, barely audible whisper that shivers through you. 

“Marcus, _please_ ,” you sob out his name, half-rising onto your knees as you lift your hips into his hand. You need him to touch you before you go crazy.

“Yeah. _Fuck._ Yeah, I’ve got you, baby,” he says, sounding as raw as you feel, and he cups one big hand between your legs, pressing against you through your underwear. 

The feeling is electric, and this time you can’t control the desperate noise that explodes out of you at the contact. It feels like you’ve been waiting for his touch forever, and now that he’s finally touching you it’s almost too much, too good. So fucking good you can hardly stand it. 

“Christ, you’re wet,” Marcus breathes, sounding awed.

Your hips hitch and tremble against his hand. You can’t decide if you want him closer or further away, but when he pulls his hand away, you have to bite down on another noise of protest at the loss. Luckily he doesn’t go far, just far enough to hook a finger under the soaked crotch of your underwear and pull it to the side, making room for the fingers of his other hand to touch you.

You claw at the sheets as he slides his fingertips along your wet folds. When he finally reaches your clit, your breath sobs out and your body tries to hunch forward into his touch. The sensation is _overwhelming_ , so intense that the pleasure seems to radiate outward, obliterating everything else. 

He rubs your clit in little up and down motions, hand sliding along the bed and against your aching core. You can’t help but press down against his fingers. You’re whining low in your throat continuously now, can’t think of anything else.

Then he pulls his hand away, and you _keen_.

“Shhhh,’ Marcus shushes you, petting over your back like he’s gentling a wild horse. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re alright.” Then a moment later he continues, voice quieter and sounding almost pained, “So wet. _Jesus._ Look at this pretty pussy. So wet for me,” and you wonder if he’s even talking to you anymore.

“How about this, sweetheart?” He slides one big finger into you, and you both groan (you keen). 

You can’t answer. So overwhelmed that you can’t do anything but lie there, panting and moaning and shaking as you clench around his invading finger. Then he adds another, and you’re pretty sure you’re losing your goddamn mind.

He lets your underwear go, fingers in your pussy keeping it off to the side, and slides those newly liberated fingers under you to rub little circles on your clit.

 _Oh god,_ it’s so good. _So fucking good_ , almost enough to make you come, but you can’t… you just can’t quite…

You whine and hitch your hips forward, pressing into the bed and onto his fingers, rubbing against the fingers on your clit, and Marcus knows you well enough to know exactly what you need.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Look at you, so fucking sexy,” he rasps, voice so low you can barely hear it as he coaxes you on. “Come on. Come on, and come for me, baby.” 

He crooks his fingers inside you just slightly, pressing down towards the front of your body, and the tension ratchets higher. 

“ _Fuck._ Squeezing my fingers so tight. Come for me, sweetheart. You can do it.” 

Your back arches, cunt clenched tight around Marcus’s fingers, breath stalling in your lungs. You’re almost there… _almost…_

“There you go. _There_ you go. _Good girl,_ ” Marcus says, and you are gone.

Wave after wave of pleasure explodes outward from where his big fingers are touching you. You snap your knees together to keep him there, trapping Marcus’s hands between your legs. The moment stretches on and on as you pulse around and against his fingers, your whole body shaking with the force of your orgasm. 

Finally, _finally_ the overwhelming pleasure passes, and you slump down into the mattress. Once your legs relax, Marcus starts to pull his hands free. His movements are slow and gentle, but the feeling still leaves you panting and trembling all over, and your hips arch back involuntarily, chasing his fingers as they withdraw.

You hear a wet sound, and you realize that Marcus is licking you off his fingers. The thought of it makes your whole body spasm. You must make some kind of noise, because Marcus runs a soothing hand over your back again. 

“S’alright. You’re okay. You did so good for me, sweetheart.” His voice is calm, but you can feel the slight tremor of his hand on your back and the tension in his thigh where it’s pressed against your side.

“Alright,” Marcus says again after a few minutes, and he rises to his feet. 

You turn your face towards him and make a questioning noise.

“You get some rest, baby.” You can hear the warmth in his voice before he continues breezily, “I’m just gonna take care of a few things. I’ll be right back. Don’t let me stop you from sleeping.” 

And under other circumstances you might buy it. You might believe that Marcus is about to wander off without a care in the world to go…. _what?_ …do the dishes or something? You _might_ believe it because Marcus is exactly that thoughtful and amazing and self-sacrificing. 

So you _might_ believe it… except that the way you’re lying right now, Marcus’s hips are almost level with your face. That gives you a front row seat to see his hands fisted at his sides and the way his dark grey boxer briefs are stretched obscenely over his hard and twitching cock, a darker wet spot spreading on the material by the head. As it is, you have a sneaking suspicion that his cock is one of the things Marcus intends to “take care of” without bothering you, and that just isn’t going to work for you. 

Not with the way your body is still buzzing after the out-of-this-world orgasm he just gave you. 

“Nuh-uh.” Unfortunately, while your eyes work just fine, your brain and your mouth are still feeling a little slow. Rather than trying to explain, you reach out and grab Marcus’s wrist. “You too.”

“Sweetheart…,” Marcus begins.

“ _You too._ ” You reiterate, rolling onto your side to face him, and tugging on his captive wrist. 

“Sweetheart,” he says again, sounding an endearing mix of exasperated and embarrassed. “I— I’ve got to…” he breaks off and waves the hand you aren’t holding vaguely, somehow encompassing both his groin and the door of your bedroom. You can’t see his face too well from this angle, but you know he must be blushing. “And you’re tired. It’s okay.” 

“Nuh-uh,” you say again, “I want you to…,” and you do your own vague wave down your body.

“Sweetheart, you need to rest. I’ll be fine. You can make it up to me some other time.” His voice is gentle but firm.

“But….” You feel your eyebrows draw together. _This wonderful,_ stubborn, _self-sacrificing man._

You roll the rest of the way onto your back and stare up at Marcus, trying to get a better read on his face, hoping to gather enough brain cells to make a convincing argument. 

He stares back at you, his gaze loving, almost _awed,_ like he’s not quite sure what he did to deserve you, even though you know with great certainty that _you’re_ the one who’s lucky to have _him_. And suddenly you realize you don’t need to make a convincing argument, because you _know_ Marcus, the same way he knows you, and right now you have zero compunction about using his weaknesses against him if it means he’ll let you have your way with him.

“But I want to have your cock inside me.” You’re trying for sexy, but comes out more pleading than anything else, “Please, Marcus, I _need_ your cock. Need you to fill me up and come deep.” 

Marcus makes a sound like you’ve just punched all the air out of him, and out of the corner of your eye, you see his cock jump. When you look closer, you can see it twitching, and the wet spot on his boxers grows noticeably larger.

“ _You—_ “ he rasps out, then has to clear his throat, and you know you’ve got him when you hear the smile in his voice as he tries again, “You make a compelling argument. _Jesus_ , sweetheart.”

You have to release his hand to get your underwear off, lifting your hips and fighting with the sticky, clinging fabric until you finally get one leg free. _Good enough._ By the time you sort yourself out and spread your legs for him, Marcus is already naked and waiting, and he smiles that beautiful lopsided smile, dimple flashing as he climbs carefully into the space you’ve made for him.

He pauses there between your legs, biceps flexing as he holds himself above you. “You, uh… We don’t have to do this. You know? Just because I— You know you don’t _have to_ , right, sweetheart?”

And _god_ , this man. Always looking out for you, even at his own expense. You love him so much you think your heart might burst with it.

“I know.” You gaze up into his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, and try to put every single bit of your love and conviction into your voice, “but _I want to._ ”

Then you reach down between your bodies, take his cock in your hand, and guide him home.


End file.
